


Lost in Translation

by 1lostone



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, KisCon 2017 Zine, M/M, Mind melds, Misunderstandings, Soul Bond, Vulcan Mind Melds, i blame jlm for everything, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: It's not that Jim doesn't trust Spock...





	Lost in Translation

**Author's Note:**

> For Cam-   
> For reasons too numerous to list here. In the six years that I’ve known you, you’ve grown into someone I’m proud to call ‘friend.’ I love that fangirling over these two idiots is something we can do together. I hope you enjoy your fic! 
> 
> To FoxyK, Jlm121, Justley, and Marooncamaro, and Twdobsessive, thank you for everything. <3\. Sorry for all the whining and thank you for all the ideas. Some of 'em made it, and some of them were nursed into plot bunnies all of their own, so thanks a _lot_. :D
> 
> To everyone at KisCon- I am heartbroken that I couldn’t make it to meet all of you lovely people. Next year! *crosses fingers*

Jim wasn’t quite at the point of panicking - but it definitely wasn’t the smoothest of away missions. The sound of his heartbeat in his ears almost drowned out the unbroken, screaming  _ woosh _ of the wind and the scratch of the sand as it struck the protective suit Bones had made him wear. All three suns gave off such heat that Jim was glad that Bones had insisted on a protective suit. Especially once the sandstorm had hit. While it hadn’t been unexpected, it hadn’t exactly come at the best time. The sensor in the suit that maintained visual communication had malfunctioned, and Jim was literally blind on an unfamiliar planet. He’d lost communication with the rest of his away team.

He’d lost communication with Spock. 

The previous night, Gamma crew had received a distress call from a wayward shuttle in a nearby star system. The signal wasn’t from Starfleet, and it had been very faint when it had completely cut off. Scans showed no reason for this, so Jim and Spock had beamed down with a five person away team to try to see if they could figure out what had happened.

The beam coordinates had taken them to a rocky plateau, looking out over a vast desert. The few glimpses Jim had gotten before everything went to shit had reminded him of a large cave without the roof. From the initial reports, he remembered that there was an intricate network of honeycomb-like caves, but in the swirling sand he couldn’t see far enough ahead to see them. 

Jim had no idea if anyone was still here. They could have beamed back, or the storm could have taken them. They could have been captured by centaurs for all he knew. (Okay, that had only happened the one time, and they weren’t, strictly speaking, centaurs, but his point still stood.) 

“This is Captain Kirk, requesting immediate beam-out from hostile weather environment. I repeat. . .” It was probably pointless to continue attempting to broadcast when he  _ knew _ there was very little possibility of anyone picking up his signal, but he couldn’t make himself stop, not after so many years of protocol and training. 

He only had his memory to go on, which was unfortunate as he remembered clearly that the plateau he was on was high enough that if he took the wrong step it was a helluva long way down. The weather anomaly had looked like a tornado as it formed from, well...from everywhere, actually. It looked like it both came from the surface of the planet and descended from the sky. Fortunately, he’d had the sense to turn so that his left hand was against the rocky side as soon as the swirling cloud had hit. Jim moved cautiously, working his way down the side of the plateau into the relative safety of the warrens below, knowing that if the tearing winds blew him off course he could very easily plunge to his death. 

“This is Captain Kirk, requesting immediate beam-out from a hostile weather environment…” 

He took another careful step, dragging the thin material of the suit’s gloves against the surface of the rock, taking scant comfort in the solid pressure against his fingers. Jim wasn’t normally a praying man, but he hoped that his crew was safe. And Spock.

God,  _ Spock. _

Bones had once told him that one thing he did wrong with his marriage was that he and his ex-wife Jocelyn often went to bed angry with one another. Jim hadn’t really thought about that at the time; his experience with married life was laughable. And he and Spock were far from married. 

Hell, sometimes Jim wasn’t even sure if they were  _ friends _ . 

Jim huffed out a frustrated breath. He’d thought they were past all that, especially given all they’d been through since Bones had taken him on the Enterprise six years ago. ‘A friendship that will define you both’ and ‘because you are my friend’ and ‘what would I do without you, Spock’ all sounded good in the moment.

But now, two years after Krall. everything seemed to go to shit. 

Their last away mission hadn’t even been that big of a deal, comparatively. The Boilan system: Completely boring, tedious. . . Jim was pretty sure that he could do trade negotiations in his sleep. The Bolianites had requested Spock in particular, and that wasn’t even all that notable - many different planets and their inhabitants considered Vulcans an endangered species, and often requested Spock’s presence because it gave them some oomph to say to their buddies, that yeah, they’d negotiated with  _ that _ Vulcan, and like them, Spock was a telepath. 

They’d wrapped everything up, and one of the head Bolianites had requested ‘the traditional joining of minds’ because of  _ course _ they would ask for the one thing that James T. Kirk was actually afraid of, and he’d. . . balked. Well, okay. He’d  _ refused _ , and in the subsequent ‘discussion’ Jim might have said some things that he regretted.

The idea of anyone or any _ thing _ looking into his mind again. . . Jim just couldn’t. Not for Spock, not for a fucking trade negotiation, not for anyone. Not again. It had taken him  _ years _ to get over what Spock - no, not  _ his _ Spock, but the other one - had done to him in that cave popsicle. 

“This is Captain Kirk, requesting immediate beam-out from a hostile weather enviro-- oh,  **_shit_ ** !” 

Jim pitched forward when the rock face he’d been using for balance just disappeared. He overcompensated his balance, and with another scream pitched forward, scrambling as best he could to catch himself. His body twisted and turned, and he’d just realized that he was sliding down what felt like a tunnel when something struck his head.

Jim saw lights, then nothing as darkness overcame him. 

* * *

 

 

A soft touch brushed his face, near his cheekbone. 

Jim felt something, something in his head and it wasn’t  _ his _ , and he pushed away with everything he could, terror shivering through him. Jim gasped, his eyes flying open in shock. 

He blinked, a little confused as to why he could see. 

There wasn’t a lot of light, sort of a bluish, mellow, phosphorous glow. To his shock, Spock knelt near him, his face blue in the weird glow of the. . . wherever they were. 

Jim started to sit up, then winced. It felt like his head was an overripe melon, the bones of his skull too fragile to keep everything inside. He had a wickedly sharp pain behind his left eyeball, and he raised his hand to his forehead. It came away wet, but he was more than familiar with that scent. 

Blood.

“You have a large wound on your forehead that is bleeding profusely, Captain. Allow me to provide medical assistance.” 

Jim remembered the weird sparky, electric feeling of  _ something _ in his head and frowned, the headache causing his eyes to water. He didn’t answer Spock. 

“Did you do your mind whammy on me?” Jim tried to focus, but it was difficult. He wasn’t entirely sure that Spock was really here, and he wasn’t having a conversation with a hallucination. 

Jim sat up slowly, his head throbbing so badly he could feel it in his back teeth. Spock twitched, as though checking his movement forward. Jim became aware of a slick trickle of blood leaking from his nose. 

“I. I attempted--”

Jim couldn’t help the flinch backwards. “Ow. Shit.”  He tried to turn it into something a little more controlled, moving so his back was against the wall.  “Here, hand me the medkit.”

Spock snapped to attention anyway, as much as any member of Starfleet  _ could _ snap to attention while kneeling,  moving so that his hands were behind his back, and every single muscle was almost rigid. 

He often did that when he was angry, or hurt. Not that Spock would confess to either. 

“My assistance would be more eff-”

“Yeah, well, Spock, I don’t want your assistance, thanks. Give me the damn medkit.” 

It was so silent that Jim could hear Spock swallow. He handed over the medkit without speaking further, which Jim, and his headache, both appreciated. 

Bones had long ago insisted on medkits being a standard part of every away team mission. He’d drilled them mercilessly, under simulated conditions, on what to do with the items in there, so that they could ‘keep their damnfool selves alive long enough for me to fix what you fucked up’.

Jim wiped away the blood and applied the sonic sterilizer to clean the wound and then had a minor argument with himself on whether or not to close it. Figuring that blood-loss trumped whatever weird alien goo he might have picked up,  he repaired the gash in his forehead with the mini regenerator. A quick scan with the medical tricorder showed that he had broken his nose and given himself a concussion. He administered a hypo to help with the oxygen levels, and raised his hand to try to jerk his broken nose in place, only to stop when Spock actually grabbed his wrist. He’d moved so quickly that Jim gaped a little, shocked at both the sudden heat of Spock’s fingers and the understated strength there. Definitely not a hallucination, then, not with skin that hot. 

“Attempting to set one’s own nose has an eighty two point four percent probability of causing further nasal fractures.” 

“I wasn’t--”, Jim started then stopped abruptly. “Can you let go of my wrist please?” 

Spock did so rather quickly. 

Jim packed his nostril with some gauze, but could tell that he wouldn’t need it for very long, as the trickle had already started to slow down. 

He gave himself a minalgic hypo, but nothing that would affect his concussion. He hoped. 

Spock was absolutely still during this entire process. He watched Jim with his head slightly cocked, a very slight wrinkle on his forehead that could mean anything from mild consternation to a sudden and overwhelming desire to strangle Jim with his own nosehairs. 

Jim found the small container of electrolytes-rich drink. It tasted vaguely pineapple-y, and left an aftertaste of burnt hair, but it helped with the headache. At least, he now felt like he could talk without his head rolling off. 

“Where are the rest of my crew?” 

“They transported back to the ship.” 

There was something wrong with what Spock said, but Jim’s head was pounding too much for him to pinpoint what. “How did you find me?”

“Aurally.” Spock offered nothing furth

Jim stopped himself from rolling his eyes just in time. That wouldn’t feel great, given his injuries.  “Explain, please.”  He made himself more comfortable against the stone of the wall, closing his eyes and stretching out his legs. 

“You continued to speak. As you are well aware, Vulcan hearing is far superior to that of human hearing. I heard you request beam up three times.” Each of Spock’s words were clipped, and Jim could hear anger behind them. “You then fell through this passage. Your scream cut off and the probability of you having injured---” Spock stopped and swallowed again, so hard that his throat clicked. “I found you sprawled unconscious on the floor, bleeding profusely from a scalp wound.” Spock huffed a small breath then spoke again, the words falling off his tongue so quickly that they almost sounded strung together. “Why do you fear the touch of my mind, Jim?” 

Jim opened his eyes. “We’ve been over this.” They had. Ad nauseum. “I told you that I don’t want anyone in my head but me.” 

Spock stood up with one smooth motion and actually began pacing. Jim watched him, a little shocked that Spock was so agitated that he could not control his frustrated movement. Jim took another sip of the drink and sighed. He really didn’t want to fight with Spock anymore. Things had been awful since that away mission with the Bolianites. 

“Permission to speak freely, Captain.” 

Jim gasped, surprised at the stab of hurt that he felt at Spock’s words. It was like they had taken steps light-years in length backwards, and he was still a cocky cadet cheating on the prissy Vulcan’s stupid test instead of . . . friends.

Suddenly, he was tired of all of it. He was cold, he had a rock digging into his asscheek, and his head throbbed like his heart was pumping pain there instead of blood. 

“Whatever, Spock. We’re stuck here ‘til the storm stops anyway. Just don’t yell at me. My head really hurts.” 

Spock stopped pacing and turned towards him. Something flashed on his face, but it was controlled too quickly for Jim to parse out what the expression had meant. Spock walked back towards him and sat down, lotus-style, with both hands face-down on his thigh. Jim had seen Spock sit like this when he was meditating. Maybe he was using the muscle-memory to calm down. Jim eyed him warily, and waited for his second in command to speak. 

“I have been operating under a number of false assumptions.” 

As an opening salvo, it was enough to have Jim’s full attention. Not that he’d done a study or anything, but the number of times Vulcans had admitted to being wrong - and  _ this _ Vulcan in particular admitting that he was incorrect - had to be in the micro decimal points. Jim waited for Spock to continue. And waited. 

And waited. 

“Okay..?” Jim tried tentatively, unsure if he was supposed to respond. 

Spock’s lips actually tightened. “I wish to explain. However the feel of your fear of me is not without distraction. I am. . . I cannot. . .” He muttered a word under his breath that Jim hadn’t heard since his Academy xenolinguistics class, when the captains of the club had challenged each other to a swearing contest. Vulcans, as a rule, did not swear.  _ This  _ word in particular was foul enough that Jim’s eyebrows rose. It was so out of character that Jim really focused past the pain in his head and on the being in front of him. Spock looked completely out of his element. Usually when Spock found himself utterly bewildered by some facet of human behavior, Nyota or Jim rescued him. Nyota wasn’t here, and Jim hadn’t been willing to look past his own anger to really see that Spock was trying. 

Maybe Jim could meet him halfway. 

“I’m not afraid of you. Well, not exactly. It’s the mind thing. I’ve...” Jim sighed, a long serrated breath of sound. This was more difficult than he had anticipated. “It just  _ hurts _ , Spock. My mind feels weird after, like taffy that was stretched out too far. It feels like a joint that’s been dislocated; like someone is pushing  _ them _ into  _ me _ and it’s. . . I just.” 

Spock’s gaze sharpened. His head cocked with concentration and Jim could see his fingers twitch as though he was desperately trying to keep them still. “Someone hurt you.“ he said, low. 

Jim said nothing. How could he? It was the same reason that he hadn’t told Spock about this before. Spock had been very close with the older version of himself. How could  he tell him the specifics of what had happened in that fucking cave? Jim wanted to trust that his Spock wouldn’t do the same, but how could he not? He wouldn’t be able to help it. Mind melds, or Bones’ name of ‘Vulcan voodoo’ were just. . . awful. Painful. The worst part was that Jim knew the old man didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. He had no intention of attacking or hurting him, and  Jim had made sure that he’d never known what his meld had caused. The term, ‘emotionally compromised’ was far too sterile for what Jim had felt. For what he had been made to feel. 

Jim shrugged his answer, then immediately regretted it when his head reminded him that unnecessary movement was very, very stupid. 

“Please elucidate the particulars of your experience.” Even Spock had to have realized how that sounded and Jim saw Spock’s fingers bury themselves into the fabric of his trousers. It occurred to him then that Spock was allowing Jim to witness these little tells of emotion. Normally he would stand with his hands clasped behind his back, his face blank, leaving Jim to guess what he was or was not feeling. Now, Spock had made a concerted effort to sit close to Jim, with body language that Jim would not find threatening. 

Jim shut his eyes and began speaking before he lost his nerve. 

“Overwhelming. I wasn't me. His voice was there, and it was all I could hear. He reached up to touch my face, and even that contact felt. . . wrong. Like a tooth that had wiggled loose. I just. . . I can’t do that again. I’m sorry.”

“His.” 

Jim kept his eyes shut. It was cowardly, but he wasn’t good at this emotional shit. He knew Spock would get there in the end, and he didn’t want to see the disappointment, or worse, the skepticism in Spock’s strangely open mannerisms. 

Jim took the last few sips of his drink and shifted slightly. 

“A Vulcan hurt you.” 

Jim licked his lips nervously. 

To Jim’s absolute shock, he felt a light touch against the back of his hand. Jim’s eyes popped open. Spock had leaned forward and was frowning slightly. He seemed to realize how close he was and jerked backwards, very clearly giving Jim his space. 

“Vulcans are instructed, at the time that their minds first begin to develop, on how to meld with another mind. There are several different types of melds, all with varying degrees of. . .” Spock broke off, obviously searching for a particular word. “...intensity. The first bond with a Vulcan’s parents is, out of necessity, quite deep.” Jim felt Spock tighten his grip on his hand, almost holding it.” Parents and child can often find one another with a thought. That bond changes as the child matures. The bond with one’s parents isn’t as strong as the bond with one’s mate.” Spock’s touch lightened, as though to emphasize his point. ”As well, the bond between acquaintances differs greatly, depending on need.” The touch of Spock’s hand on his lightened even more.

Surprisingly, Spock’s switch to lecture mode helped relieve Jim of some of his anxiety. The fact that Spock was actually touching him was shocking for other reasons that Jim resolutely shoved back down into his chest where they lived. He had always enjoyed learning new things, and Spock telling him about how Vulcans meld, something that he’d not ever thought about before, was interesting. 

“Similarly, when one is injured, or when a meld is needed with an unfamiliar mind, it is extremely shallow.” Spock’s touch turned whisper-light, then left all together.

“This wasn’t like that. I thought. . . I thought all melds were like that.” Jim didn’t know why he was whispering. “I mean. . . I still dream about what he showed me. I can still hear it.”

The volume of Spock’s voice matched his. “I was unaware of your lack of understanding. During our previous mission, I. . . surmised your reluctance was due to--” Spock cut off abruptly and straightened his back. “I will ascertain whether or not the intensity of the storm has abated.” He started to stand, and Jim blurted what he was thinking, weirdly panicked at the thought of Spock leaving, of discontinuing the strangely compatible moment. 

“Why did you start to meld with me when you found me?” 

Spock waited a beat or two, then settled back down onto the uncomfortable ground. “One of the benefits of a shallow meld is the ability to block some pain receptors.” 

Jim huffed out a breath. “Will you know what I am thinking?” 

Spock gave a slight shake of his head. “Negative. That has not been my experience. My father could not share my mother’s thoughts until many years after their bonding meld. I have heard of instances where minds that were extraordinarily compatible have linked, but that spontaneous congruence is rare.”

“Will it. . . hurt?” 

That look from before, a strange, intense burst of emotion twisted Spock’s features and Spock had to look away to regain control. 

“It will not, Jim. A shallow meld will only help your pain since it is unclear at this time how long we will need to survive under these conditions.” He paused. “However, I feel it necessary to propose another plan. While I am not a clinical mind healer, since the destruction of my planet, several of my species have been trained in techniques to heal. If your previous meld has harmed your mind, I will be able to tell. Perhaps fix it, although if I cannot, you will need a traditional mind healer.”

Jim swallowed. He shouldn’t have pushed the drink; it was making him feel nauseous. Or maybe it was the steady throb of his head. It hadn’t abated in all this time, and the conversation had hardly helped. He bit his lip. He honestly hadn’t realized that there were different kinds of melds, and felt kind of stupid for it. It was his job to know. The whole embarrassing incident with the Bolianites could have been avoided if he’d just done some goddamn research. 

At the end of the day, the question was: Did he trust Spock? 

And that really, when he stopped to think about it and not just overreact, that wasn’t even a question. 

“If you can make this go away. . . “ 

“I can.” Spock’s confidence made some of Jim’s trepidation dissipate. 

“Okay then. Meld me.” 

Spock’s lips twitched. 

“I wish to determine the specifics of our situation, and then I will see to your injuries, Jim.” Spock rose quickly and turned away from where Jim sat. 

Jim opened his eyes and tried to look around. Even the shadows from the faint bluish light hurt now. Jim could see auroras around rocks inside the cave. His stomach lurched suddenly, and he barely was able to twist his body in order to vomit to the side instead of all over his suit. 

It was agony. His stomach heaved and Jim barely registered that he braced himself with one hand against the wall of the cave while lights exploded behind his eyes. He was helpless as his stomach expelled everything he’d eaten that day, then even the memory of food. He gasped, helpless. 

To his shock, Spock’s arm slipped around his shoulders, supporting him. Spock didn’t turn a hair at the mess he made, and to Jim’s bleary shock he wrapped a damp cloth around the back of Jim’s neck. It wasn’t all that cold, but it was much cooler than his flushed skin and felt amazing. Concentrating on it allowed Jim to ignore the way his stomach still spasmed, and when he felt better he used it to wipe out his mouth. 

“Sp’k,” Jim breathed, sagging against the crook of Spock’s arm. 

Spock gave him water to swish out his mouth, and Jim passively did as instructed, going where Spock guided and and drinking what Spock gave him. Jim thought he felt the brief sting of a hypospray, but couldn’t swear to it. All he knew was the thrumming percussive beat of his pounding head. His eyes had teared up, and were achy. His throat felt like the sandpapery surface of a Ba'ku Goat’s tongue. 

“Jim.” More insistent. “ _ Jim _ .”

“Mm?’”

“You must not sleep, Jim.” 

“Mm.”

He felt Spock change their positions, maneuvering Jim so that his back was to Spock’s chest. He was immediately aware of heat, of comfort. Jim looked dully down at Spock’s legs where they bracketed his, confused. Spock didn’t. . . touch. Jim’s head felt heavy. The weight of it seemed impossible, and on instinct he bent his neck back and rested his head on Spock’s shoulder, shutting his eyes. 

The spark of electricity made Jim flinch away from Spock’s warm fingers. 

“Jim, are you certain?” 

Jim bit his lip, swallowed down the nausea, and tried to concentrate enough on what Spock was asking, to answer without puking on him or passing out. It was more difficult to summon speech than he anticipated. Jim kept focusing on inconsequential things. He had stubbed his toe, and ripped part of the nail down to the quick, and inside his boot, the toe rubbed uncomfortably against the hard material. Spock’s scent flooded his nose,a mix of the incense he used to meditate and the dusty, chalky smell of the sand. 

Jim blinked and grit his teeth, trying desperately to focus. “Do it, Spock. Before I pass out.” It cost something for Jim to confess he was that close to losing consciousness, even though he was perfectly aware that Spock was well-aware of Jim’s condition. 

The very tips of Spock’s fingers seemed as hot as flame as they brushed against Jim’s face. He had a moment of recognition, of familiarity, before there was an almost physical  _ click _ , and everything just sort of. . . changed. 

Unbelievably, the pain stopped. 

The pain  _ stopped. _

Jim became aware of himself all at once, as though emerging from a dark cave to a brightly lit day. The pain in his head and through his body had been overwhelming. Now he was aware of the thud of his heartbeat, the susurrus of Spock’s uniform as it brushed against Jim’s own environmental suit, the damp sound of Jim’s throat as he swallowed. 

Overall was the cool calmness radiating from Spock’s touch. 

Jim knew that his body was still sprawled against Spock’s, but he also had the sensation of blinking and sitting up straight in this not-quite-reality mindscape. 

“I have filtered the pain receptors so that they no longer cause you pain.” Spock’s voice had an odd echo to it, almost as though Jim was hearing him from down a very long tunnel, so that he heard the word ‘pain’ twice. 

“Wow, that’s a helluva trick.” Jim could feel Spock’s warm glow of happiness from the compliment, and frowned a little. It was decidedly odd to actually  _ feel _ anything from the usually stoic Vulcan.This mind stuff was kind of cool - not that he’d tell Spock that. “So, now what? You can’t sit like this forever. I mean, as soon as you stop touching me, it will hurt again, right?” 

**_-touch-_ **

All at once, the feel of o _ lder, shaking fingers on his face, pushing almost too hard, a mind so overwhelmingly strong, crashing shakily into his with all the subtlety of a tsunami. . .  _ Jim winced again. His mind self flinched away from Spock, but he could still feel his physical self still sprawled senseless, using his Spock as a chair. It felt very far away. He was still able to feel the echo of his Spock piggybacking onto that memory, and the resulting intensity drove a spike of pain through his head. 

“Shit.”

The warm glow of happiness turned into a momentary muddy feel of confusion, then the decidedly ice cold blizzard of fury. Jim winced again, and managed to think a sputtered  _ he’s a-angry _ ! before a blank nothingness surrounded them. It was like being wrapped in gauze, or buried in cotton. Jim froze, afraid to think. He felt guilt, and shame, because now that his brain wasn’t feeling like an overscrambled egg, he realized exactly what it was that was going on. The echo of Spock’s mental self was gone. So were all of the emotions he’d been feeling.

It had happened before, after all. When Spock’s counterpart had melded with him, years ago, Jim hadn’t just been a passenger along for the ride. He’d been the vehicle, the rocky terrain, and the passenger all rolled into one. That Spock had pulled him along, without his willingness, hell. Without even his  _ consent _ . 

But that couldn’t be right. 

Because his Spock had promised. He’d  _ sworn _ that this meld wouldn't be like the last one. 

“Spock?” Jim’s whisper was shaky. He tried to push away the knee-jerk feelings of disappointment and betrayal, a miniscule part of him hoping that he was just mixed up, and just misreading the situation. He hadn't imagined Spock saying that this wouldn’t be like before, had he? 

The gauze-wrapped feeling of being within a meld changed slightly.It became slightly heavy. It was like feeling a bit of liquid spread from the smallest corner of the piece of gauze, seeping through the once dry material so that it was now saturated. The feelings that Spock had kept away were slowly bleeding over whatever barrier Spock had erected in this weird mindscape.. 

Jim held up his hand, as though he could physically push them back, as though whatever Spock was feeling was something tangible that Jim could touch. “What’s going on, Spock?” 

In this weird mindscape, Jim could see Spock across from him, mirroring his position from several feet away. He watched as Spock slowly brought up his other hand, keeping the careful distance with both palms out as though pushing against some surface.  He felt like the space between them was alive, and the only way for him to keep his ‘ _ his’ _ -ness was to stay perfectly still and not drop his hand. 

“I. . . “ Spock’s voice sounded garbled as he stopped, then attempted to start over. “It is the meld, Jim. It is. . . more than it should be.” 

Jim raised both eyebrows, a little concerned that Spock didn’t seem to be able to meet his gaze, even in this weird mindscape of the meld. “Explain.” Jim could feel Spock’s confusion, and what tasted like shame. 

“Your mind is. . .  _ vastly _ different from the human minds that I have encountered thus far. Melding with my mother was familiar, and we shared the bond between mother and son. Yet even with that, I could only feel her emotions when closely melded, and even then it was not as . . . strong. With Nyota, the meld was more intimate, as expected from two who share. . . what we share. I know her mind, but she could not know mine. It is not... reciprocal.” 

Jim cocked his head. That was sad in a way. Nyota couldn’t share all of Spock’s culture with him, and JIm wished that there was a way to fix that for both his friends.  He understood all Spock’s quickly spoken words, but the logic of them strung together was not quite clicking. It was like hearing a joke and waiting for a punchline.Only this was far from funny. The space in the mindspace between them was alive, with all the force of a hurricane. Jim could feel that Spock was trembling with the strain of attempting to keep Jim from the onslaught. 

“Think of it as such: out there, I entered a shallow meld with you, as previously explained, in order to assist you with the pain resulting from your injury. I should not have been able to  _ see _ the memory of your other meld. Nor should I have been able to experience what you experienced at the time. Or. . . after.” Spock’s fingers trembled in front of him. 

JIm, also with his hands up in a mirrored position, began to understand. “Oh.” Jim moved his pinky a tiny bit. He couldn’t  _ not. _ It was like wiggling a loose tooth. A tendril of sick, deep purple jealousy- jealousy that decidedly was  _ not _ his own- whipped against Jim before the feeling was ruthlessly cut off, as though it had only been something he imagined. Nervousness, or frustration, Jim would have expected. Jealousy was a shock.  stared at the fine sheen of sweat that dotted Spock’s forehead. He waited a moment, then when he was sure of what he wanted to ask, Jim spoke. “So - you can feel what I feel?” 

“No. I have several shields in place to keep that from happening.” Spock’s ears flushed a deep green, and Jim, who’d been known to bullshit a time or two before in his life, raised his eyebrow, Spock-like in disbelief. 

“So much for not lying mind-to-mind.” 

“No!” Spock actually took a half step forward before freezing rather comically in place. The air of the mindscape that still surrounded them almost seemed viscous, clinging to the two of their bodies with little curious tendrils.  It was very obvious that whatever he was holding back he was managing to do so by a very thin thread of perseverance. “My shields  _ will _ hold. I will  _ not _ invade your mind without permission."

Jim blinked. “So what would happen if I dropped my hand?”

“The probability of hurting you rises exponentially. My mind would take yours, much like my counterpart’s did. . . before.” As though lightning had illuminated his sudden and complete understanding, Jim realized why Spock had been jealous. ‘You must  _ not _ , Jim. My control is. . . less than optimal. You could be irrevocably damaged. Hurt. I only need a moment to break our physical meld to firm my control and--” 

Jim dropped his hand. 

He could actually  _ see _ Spock’s bewildered bafflement. Spock jerked in place, throwing out his arms as though he needed the physical momentum to keep the swirling, heaving mass of emotion in check. 

“Spock.” Jim waited until Spock’s head jerked up, muscles in his face rigid with a desperate concentration. “You would never hurt me.” The simple truth rocked Spock so deeply that Jim felt Spock’s physical self jolt in place. Jim stepped forward in the mindscape, and gently pushed Spock’s arms down. 

For a moment, nothing happened. 

In the next, Jim was surrounded by bits of swirling emotion, buffeting him from all directions. He felt Spock’s utter shock that Jim trusted him, and the dark sense of unworthiness that Spock did not deserve that trust. He felt Spock’s jealousy from before, the absolute fury that the other Spock had dared to harm him.  _ His Jim. _ He felt Spock’s sadness that Jim had kept this fear to himself for so long, not trusting that Spock knew how to help. He felt Spock’s desperate confusion at why  _ this _ meld was not working as it should and the absolute shivering terror that he would somehow hurt Jim as his counterpart had done. 

Slowly, so slowly that Jim almost didn’t realize what was happening at first, Spock’s arms came up to encircle his shoulders and back, until they were almost clinging to one another. It wasn’t the hug of friends. It wasn’t the hug of lovers. 

But Jim knew that he had never felt such complete acceptance, and unwarranted understanding before. He tried to keep up with everything that Spock was feeling. And yes, Spock was most definitely  _ feeling. _ Of  _ course _ he trusted Spock. Aside from that one pesky near-strangulation episode - that he had quite frankly goaded him into - Spock had never done anything that would harm  him in any way. In fact, he’d done just about everything imaginable in order  _ not _ to. This meld was powerful, and a little scary, but Jim was still very much his own person.. The helpless terror of feeling like his mind was just a thin skein of gossamer against the older Spock’s solid and unwavering bedrock never manifested; in fact,  _ Jim _ was the one of the two of them who had experienced most of  _ Spock’s _ feelings and emotions. Without the fear choking him, Jim didn’t know what he had been so afraid of.  _ His _ Spock was nothing like the other Vulcan,, and as much as he knew that version had loved his own Jim with every breath of air in his old and frail body, Jim  _ also _ understood that there had been nothing malicious in his first meld. Emotionally compromised was such a sterile phrase for the unimaginable sadness and fear Jim had felt. Was it any wonder that he’d clung to Jim’s mind like a drowning man does a life preserver? 

_ This _ Spock, in  _ this _ meld, had done everything he could not to cross any lines with Jim’s fragile trust. 

Jim felt something whisper-light against his cheekbone and he ignored it, pressing his forehead deeper into the juncture of Spock’s neck and shoulder, reluctant to let go, or leave this place that he’d been so afraid of. The meld was him and Spock, and Spock and him, and Jim knew he’d been stupid to ever fear the being in his arms. Jim forced himself to take a step back, not breaking eye contact until Spock nervously tugged at the bottom of his uniform Blues, smoothing out any wrinkles. 

“I trust you, Spock.” 

Spock’s voice was slightly shaky as he responded, “Yes. It does seem as though you do.”    
  


* * *

 

 

“The sandstorm has ceased.” 

“Mhm,” Jim sighed. He really was terribly comfortable, and not too keen on moving. When Spock had broken the meld, Jim had found that his physical form had turned in Spock’s arms. Spock had scooched down so that he was laying on his back, and Jim was sort of snuggled into Spock’s side, with their legs tangled together. The heat from Spock’s body had kept him warm in the coolness of the cave. 

The pain in his head had dimmed, so whatever Spock had done in the meld  _ had _ worked. When Spock had removed his fingers from their position on Jim’s face, Jim had felt it viscerally, and had opened his eyes in alarm. Spock’s face had been much too close, but Jim really hadn’t wanted to move. Maybe it was the lack of pain, or the intimacy that they’d just shared, but Jim had just nestled his forehead into Spock’s chest, not wanting to deal with anything much. It had taken Spock a moment, but when his hand slowly cupped the back of Jim’s sore head, Jim had smiled a little against the fabric of Spock’s uniform, and that had been that. 

Spock wouldn’t let him sleep, but Jim had just sort of drifted, incredibly comfortable. He couldn’t even remember a time when he’d been allowed this level of unrestricted intimacy that didn’t involve someone getting off. The fact that it was Spock that was allowing this, even  _ encouraging _ it was something that Jim knew he’d have to really think about. 

But not now. 

Now Spock’s fingers were carding through Jim’s hair, his fingers pressing against his skin, as though he knew where the headache was, and was pushing against it from the outside. Two fingers brushed against his eyebrow, following the ridge of Jim’s skull to press against his temple, then down under the ridge of  his jaw, under his ear. Spock would pause for a moment, then start again in reverse. 

It wasn’t the most amazing thing that Jim had ever felt, but it sure as hell was up there. 

Jim sighed again. He wasn’t really good at this sort of confessional stuff, and to say he sucked at apologies was what Bones would call ‘one fuck of a fucking huge understatement,  _ Jesus _ Jim.’ but Jim knew that he owed Spock this at the very least. 

“I’m sorry that I was so afraid of you going inside my head. It was unprofessional at best, and horribly xenophobic at worst.” 

To Jim’s utter shock, Spock actually shrugged, one shoulder twitching upwards under Jim’s ear. 

“My counterpart, in his. . . dismay at witnessing Vulcan’s demise, inadvertently damaged your mind, which would have appalled him had he known. Your fear of repeating the experience is not unreasonable. The pathways that are used when joining minds were raw and took some time to heal. They do not heal, as you no doubt discovered, on their own, so for six years you have been suffering each time you experienced the memory.” His voice lowered. “If either of us should offer an apology, it should be me for--”

“Nuh-uh.” Jim shook his head, still marveling that he could do so without blacking out or having the damn thing roll off his neck and down the cave’s floor. “We’re not linked together or accidentally mind-married or anything, right?” 

“No, Jim. I have managed to not ‘mind-marry’ the two of us. Nyota is as formidable as she is forgiving, but I do not think even she would tolerate that.” 

Jim managed not to physically wince, but it was a near thing. He took a moment to fortify himself, then slowly sat up, gingerly holding his head. There were a vast number of reasons that he couldn’t just veg out here, bro-cuddling with his first officer, and the fact that both Spock and Nyota trusted him was only one of them. Jim was quite skilled at pushing back his feelings, and did so now without thinking too much about it. 

The meld itself had been indescribable, but being able to rest here with Spock? 

Jim had conveniently forgotten his own duties for chasing after the dregs of that intimate connection, and it was time for him to stop. 

“We should go. See if the ship has managed to survive without us.” Jim turned to look at Spock who had also sat up. Spock’s cheeks had flushed a slight green. He had one cowlick of hair sticking straight up, and Jim bit the inside of his cheek. Spock’s usually impeccable uniform was creased in spots, giving him an overall air of someone who either had just woken up in a hurry, or just tumbled out of bed after sex. Jim swallowed hard, and turned away. 

He heard Spock getting to his feet behind him and tried to ignore the feeling of nervousness he felt.  He looked around, and squinted at the light coming through a hole about ten feet above his head. “You think we’ll need to climb out?” 

Spock didn’t answer right away, and when Jim turned to look at him, he saw Spock hastily fingercomb his hair into its normal smooth cap. “Spock?” 

Spock turned towards Jim, and he was immediately the blank-faced, emotionally controlled Vulcan that Jim had come to recognize from their many away missions together. “We will need to reach higher ground in order to attempt communication.” 

Of course they would. “Right. So, boost me up?” 

“Indeed.” They walked over to the area Jim had previously found with his face, and Spock easily lifted Jim to the top. Jim scrambled a bit, but managed to pull himself up. He wasn’t on the surface quite yet. Years had created this little pocket of rock. The light was much less muted here, and Jim had to blink rapidly before his eyes adjusted. There was just enough space for him to scramble around on his stomach and reach down for Spock. 

Spock jumped nimbly, reaching and clasping Jim’s arm with his own for leverage. He managed to pull himself up, and Jim let go as soon as he was sure Spock had his balance.  He turned to crawl back out onto the surface, but before he could, Spock’s hand closed around his forearm, keeping him in the small space. 

Confused, Jim turned to look at Spock. For someone so lithe, Jim thought Spock filled the whole space. Clinging to his professionalism, Jim kept his face polite as he looked at his First. 

“Jim. I--” Spock shut his mouth with a small  _ pop _ of sound. He seemed discomforted, and strangely nervous. “Do you know the significance of a Vulcan using two fingers to touch someone?” 

Jim did not. He shook his head. Weirdly, he could feel the ghost of Spock’s touch on his forehead, temple, and jaw. 

“Ah.” Spock seemed strangely upset by this, his chin dropped slightly, and he broke eye contact with Jim. A bit belatedly, Spock let him go. “I believe the doctor will be most pleased at your return, however he will not likely clear you for another away mission for at least a month. “ 

Jim knew a subject change when he heard one. He allowed a small smile to acknowledge Spock’s version of a joke, and crawled the last few feet onto the wide plateau.  He knew that Spock was right behind him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed something rather important. Part of him wanted to chase it down, but the bigger part, the part that knew if Spock wanted to tell him he’d just spit it out and tell him was content enough to let it slide. 

The shift officer was thrilled at Spock’s request for two to beam up, and Jim had just enough time to look around one last time at the little plateau before he appeared back on the ship, with Spock, as always, by his side.  

While Bones checked Jim from head to foot, and side to side in sickbay (and probably a few other ways that Jim was a little worried about when he thought too hard about that whole experience), his crew had found the crash site that had brought them to the dusty planet. The away team had beamed back during the end of one of the dust storms; JIm and Spock had been out of it, and in the caves the Enterprise’s sensors had not been able to permeate through the layers of rock. Simple explanations that had Scotty and Chekov muttering about upgrading things to a level that their next inspection probably wouldn’t approve of. Seven of the ten of the crew that had crashed there had survived in one of the planet’s many caves underground, and when Jim had finally been cleared for duty, he’d had the happy experience beaming the survivors onto a passing freighter headed to their home system. 

And if in the coming weeks, Jim was a little less boisterous than usual, or if Bones gave him the Concerned Eyebrow and mother-henned him a little more than normal, well that was just how things were, right? 

Jim was fine: he had his crew, and his friends, and his ship. If he had a few dreams that had him waking up uncomfortably hard, or a few more that had him waking up reaching out for something. . . some _ one _ that was always just a little too far out of his reach, well that was just how Jim’s life worked. 

But sometimes? Sometimes in the dark little secret part of Jim’s mind, in the hours long after he should be sleeping and before the computer gave him his hour wake up notification, Jim would allow himself to remember the feeling of trust, of comradery, of comfort. . .    
  


. . . and something else very much like love. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
